


Granite

by hydrangea



Category: Fairy Tales and Related Fandoms, King Thrushbeard
Genre: F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fantasy, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 08:02:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrangea/pseuds/hydrangea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A loose re-telling of 'King Thrushbeard' in which the princess has more issues with marriage than with pride and in which a king truly must watch what he says -- or everyone will face the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Granite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waldorph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waldorph/gifts).



> Thanks to morbane for the late beta!

"Granite! Granite, open the door!"

 

The heavy oak groaned under her father's fists, the wood cracking around the hinges and lock. She could imagine how it looked on the other side – probably dented. She kicked the door, adding a scuffmark to hundreds of other scuffmarks at the bottom of it and hoped he got a splinter. A dozen of them.

 

"I'm not coming out, father!" she yelled back, supporting her voice properly and managing a bellow that would surprise the jewel-dripping twits that would be arriving in droves by now. "You can tell them all to leave! I'm not choosing a husband, I'm not leaving this room and you can't make me!"

 

The pounding paused. She didn't put her ear to the door to see if he'd left – she'd learned _that_ lesson early on. "Granite," her father said after a moment, speaking as carefully and measured as he would to any of his counselors when he attempted to convince them that lowering the taxes would _not_ result in abject poverty among the nobles.

 

"You have met many of these young men before – I know for a fact that you are good friends with several of them. I'm not asking you to choose now, I'm asking you to meet them and see if anything happens."

 

She crossed her arms. "Nothing _will_ happen. I know that."

 

"You can't know that. You haven't opened yourself to the idea, so how _could_ you know that?" His voice was getting louder again. "You can't stay here forever, Granite, you know that!”

 

"Why can’t I?" Damn it, her voice was growing thick again. . . She took a moment to swallow and wipe her nose before continuing. "You can sculpt yourselves another heir! Then it wouldn’t matter if I’m married or not!"

 

"Granite. I know you're not that dimwitted."

 

She wasn't, but that didn't mean she was ready to face crowds and crowds of men in the ballroom, all of them wanting to look at her to see if she was what the stupid troubadours and bards had been proclaiming since she was eight and her unusual granite build began to be remarked upon.

 

"Granite, heart of mine, could you please let me in."

 

Oh great. Now her _mother_ was entering the game – trickery, that was what that was. If she didn't open the door, she wouldn't _have_ a door two seconds later.

 

She gingerly lifted the lock and stepped back.

 

" _Thank_ you," her mother said primly and swept in, her obsidian hair swishing behind her.

 

Granite caught sight of her father before the door closed again, brows furrowed and jaw so tense it looked as if it echoed the basalt of his hair – square and unforgiving.

 

"Is he very angry?" she whispered when the door was safely closed.

 

"Very exasperated. Granite, what _are_ you thinking? You agreed to this not even a week ago."

 

She sat down, pulling a hank of hair over her shoulder and breaking a strand off, crushing it between her fingertips. "I. . . It merely hit me. I'm going to leave you – I'm going to leave father – to live with someone that I don't know."

 

"You've known that for all your life, Granite." Her mother sighed and sat down beside her, taking Granite's hands and brushing the pink and grey sand off her skin. "This is not about leaving home. This is something else."

 

Granite stared down at their hands, rough pink clashing with glossy black. It had been months since her mother last spoke to her like this – certainly years since her mother had left her studies at the Volcanium to spend more time than a handful of dinners with her daughter. The touch wasn't even familiar anymore, nor the faint scent of sulfur that always seemed to drift from her mother's clothing. The only thing she knew was the smell of wax she associated with her father and the red rust that seemed to linger every time he'd pulled her in for a hug or a squeeze of her shoulder. There shouldn't have been anything to pull her towards confiding in her mother and yet there was.

 

"They're kings, mother," she slowly said. "Kings and princes. They're going to want a queen."

 

"Yes?"

 

Her mother didn't understand. She had _known_ she wouldn't.

 

"I'm not going to be a queen!" Her voice rose without her permission, the words aching even as she spoke. "I'm going to be failure! Don't you see? I can't rule people! I have a temper, I'm shy, I don't like social gatherings and courtiers drive me insane with their constant gossiping and social games, and–"

 

Her mother tapped a single finger to Granite's lips before she could continue her tirade. "Daughter, think before you speak. If a woman as you describe cannot be a queen, then what am I? You know well that. . ."

 

Granite gritted her teeth hard enough she had to swallow stone. "Mother, you're a mage. You're allowed to be different. I'm merely a mundane."

 

Her mother closed her eyes. "I see. Well, you are certainly correct in one thing: no queen would ever dismiss advice without listening and considering." Small fragments dropped from her hair as she climbed to her feet and Granite clenched her fists, suddenly feeling guilty. Her mother would _never_ shatter if she wasn't truly upset. "You will come down to the hall, daughter. I don’t care if you sulk for the entire time, but you will come."

 

The door closed behind her with a solid thunk. Granite flopped down on her back on the bed and scowled.

 

***

 

Her suitors began to show up the following day, arriving in processions and making grand entrance after grand entrance. Granite didn’t attend any of them, instead sneaking into her father’s audience hall to sit in the shadow of a stalagmite pillar and listen as he spoke with dignitaries and ambassadors. She liked doing that – her parents rarely spoke with her about the daily affairs of the country for all that she was supposed to succeed them one day. They most likely expected her to receive that knowledge when she married and ruled by her husband’s side.

 

This day, her father appeared to be in deep conversation with the king of the Bird country – Thrush, her father called him. She couldn’t catch any details, but from their uncommonly serious expressions, it was something very important. They talked for a long time, then Thrush stood and nodded.

 

“I’m sorry I will not have the opportunity to ask,” he said, “but I do understand your point of view. As we agreed though; we will keep the magma lines flowing in return for support when the time comes.”

 

“May it be so,” her father agreed and the stone chimed as the Law set.

 

Granite pulled away as Thrush left the throne room, a single knight falling in behind him. He and her father had been talking much lately – she wondered why.

 

***

 

There were rows upon rows of kings and princes of all ages as Granite entered the hall that evening, coming from kingdoms as distant as Stellar, Philosophy and Equation. There were even several rows of queens and princesses, some of whom Granite hadn't known considered marrying for companionship rather than progeny. She briefly entertained the idea of looking within their ranks but dismissed the idea: it would be most foul of her to pretend to be something she was not.

 

Her father had set a chair for her between and beneath the twin thrones of her father and mother. She spread her skirts and sat there, her back straight and so aware of her father's gaze at the back of her head that sand seeped down her back and gathered in an unflattering lump at her behind. When his gaze finally settled elsewhere and he began to speak, she slumped and discreetly wiped the sand off her palms.

 

"This is my daughter, Granite. As was proclaimed, you may each ask her a question in order to capture her interest, as long as you are willing to answer one in return."

 

After some hours of questions, Granite was beginning to doubt the old saying 'there are no stupid questions, only stupid answers'. There were indeed stupid questions and if the night proceeded as the evening had, they would all have been given to her for answering.

 

"Yes, I quite like velvet," she answered the latest questioner, whose softly spun hair was trying to unravel in every direction as he spoke. A tress of the aforementioned velvet appeared to be trying to weave itself into his silk robes and the result was not unlike that of a bath towel.

 

"Would you like to ask the Prince a question in return?" the courtier in charge of her visitors intoned for at least the thirtieth time.

 

She shook her head and the prince stepped back. The courtier didn’t call a new suitor and Granite looked up at her father. “May I leave for a little while?”

 

Her father looked unhappy – and not wholly due to her lack of acceptance of a suitor, she thought – but nodded. “You may – as long as you return within a glass.”

 

Granite curtsied, and then hastily beat her retreat through the royals’ entrance, heading towards one of the nearby rock gardens. She needed some refreshment stone after all the strangers she’d been forced to meet.

 

The vein of granite lay at the back of the garden and Granite stepped out of her shoes with a sigh, feeling herself regain mass as the stone beneath her became part of her. So absorbed was she that she didn’t notice the man sitting on a rock only yards away until he politely cleared his throat.

 

Granite looked up, then blinked and tried not to stare. The man – the king, she corrected herself, as she saw the crown woven into his hair – had the most peculiar appearance she had ever happened upon – and there had been a prince several hours past who writhed with scales. His hair consisted of layered feathers in brown and his skin was a rusty red – nothing uncommon there – no, the peculiarity came from his eyes: black like agate and ringed by down of the same color and then ringed again in white made up by tiny feathers that fluttered every time he blinked.

 

The king appeared to have caught that she wouldn’t be making the first move, because he stood and bowed perfunctorily. “Princess,” he greeted her.

 

Granite curtsied – or approximated a curtsey as well as she might when stone was still seeping into her body through her feet. “King—“ Her mind spun momentarily before she placed him as the king who had spoken with her father earlier, the one whose face she had not seen, “—Thrush.”

 

“I hope I didn’t startle you,” Thrush said as he sat again. “I ask for your forgiveness if I did.”

 

“I should apologize for not noticing you,” Granite said. Her stomach flopped heavily, her mind churning out only platitudes when she fumbled for words. “I didn’t expect to see anyone out here.”

 

“So I gathered.” Thrush cast a look in the direction of the ballroom. “If I may ask – ought you not be in the ballroom?”

 

Granite carefully formulated the reply. “There’s a small recess. I thought I might refresh myself.”

 

“Ah.” Thrush didn’t ask anything further and Granite relaxed incrementally when he didn’t fawn as many of her suitors had. If he even was one of her suitors – after all, he had been in the city for much longer than anyone else had, and he _did_ speak with her father often.

 

She fiddled with her gown, unsure whether to leave. “Are you one of my suitors?” she finally asked him, figuring it would be a neutral enough subject _and_ answer the question itself.

 

Thrush shook his head, then said (as she had thought), “I’m not, princess. I came to discuss a subject with your father.” His lips quirked. “You are as beautiful as they say, however. Whoever you choose to stand beside will be a very lucky person indeed.”

 

Granite flushed ruby red and looked at her feet. “I’m not sure I will choose anyone,” she muttered, half hoping he would not hear her and half-hoping he would. There was something about him she liked – his voice maybe, full of melody.

 

“So I gathered,” he repeated. Granite shivered under his gaze, but somehow, it wasn’t uncomfortable, more like the warmth of calling stone into herself. “It’s quite understandable – a formal greeting isn’t the best of circumstances to meet someone.”

 

Granite looked at him, a thought she couldn’t quite identify climbing from the depth of her mind. “Would you—“ she began, but stopped when he turned his head to look sharply towards the entrance.

 

A servant showed up at the garden gate, catching their attention. “Princess, your father calls for you.” He looked at Thrush. “The Queen has inquired after you as well, your majesty,” he added.

 

“I believe it’s time for us both to return,” Thrush noted, an odd expression on his face, then came to offer his arm. “If I may—?”

 

Knowing that to do otherwise would be an insult, Granite took his arm and let him guide her back to the ballroom. Her father gave her a sharp look when she appeared on Thrush’s arm, but didn’t say anything as she took her seat once again. She felt his gaze in her back, however, unrelenting as princes and kings approached her.

 

Thrush had come to stand with her mother and Granite found herself looking over at him from time to time. There was something strange about that man, something puzzling. Once, he caught her looking and raised an eyebrow. Granite turned away, her cheeks prickling, only to meet her father’s stare. He didn’t seem amused, not at all.

 

***

 

The rest of the evening passed without incident and in the morning, Granite was not surprised to find her father sharing the breakfast table, leaving her with only her mother. Her mother, in turn, spoke only of unimportant subjects, leaving Granite confused. She had expected a dress-down at the very least, a reminder that it was her duty to find someone.

 

When the summons to appear before her father in the audience hall came, the weight of a heavy stone eased off her chest. This had to be when her father would do as he always did – yell at her until they were both tired and could be at peace with each other again.

 

The audience hall was empty when Granite arrived, the great door shut to all but the royal family itself. Her father, when seated on his throne, would normally be as unapproachable as the Volcanium itself in his stature, but as Granite came up on him, she found that he had removed his crown and was frowning over a stack of paperwork.

 

“Father?” she said as she came to a stop beneath him.

 

Her father looked up – Granite swallowed as she saw his narrowed eyes – and motioned for her to come. “I have something I want to tell you,” he said.

 

She climbed the stairs and let him move aside so she could sit beside him on the massive stone seat. “We could’ve talked in a more comfortable place,” she said tentatively.

 

“I have my reasons,” her father only said, then turned towards her with that uncomfortable gaze of his. “You met with King Thrush yesterday.”

 

“I met him in the garden.” Granite searched his face. There was something wrong with this conversation, with the way he sounded as if he was attempting to extract something from her. “He was nice – I liked him.” Her mind flashed to the way his lips had quirked when she fumbled through their short conversation – not making fun of her, but _understanding_. “He said that he came here to discuss something with you, father.”

 

An expression Granite couldn’t read passed over her father’s face – relief? “Then you know he was not here to ask for your hand,” he concluded. “That is well then – Granite, you may not need to hear this if what you say is truly what happened, but Thrush is not a man you may marry.”

 

Granite frowned. “Why? He’s a king and very nice. Why could I not choose him?”

 

Her father shook his head. “You may not. Any person, but not him.”

 

There was a stab of _something_ in her chest – disappointment? – and Granite couldn’t help but grit her teeth hard. “Tell me then,” she challenged. “Why? Why can’t I choose him?”

 

Her father nailed her with a look. “Don’t question me, Granite. There are matters that I’m not free to discuss with you – nor would I discuss them with you, should I be free to do so.”

 

“Why?” Granite demanded again. “You keep promising me the choice – then you take it away again when I might have found someone I could like! That’s unfair!”

 

“Are we back to that again?” her father wanted to know. “Will you be kicking the doors and throwing things?”

 

“Father!”

 

“If you want to be treated like an adult, then behave like one.” He took his paperwork and stood, no doubt intending to leave her to stew on her own. Again.

 

Granite took a breath, forced her rabbit heart to become stone once. She needed to find the underlying cause of this, once and for all. “If I calm down and listen, will you tell me?”

 

“No.” Her father turned his back to her. “My decision is final.”

 

“You promised me a choice.” There was a hitch in her voice now and her heart _hurt_ under the stone grip she had on it. “Thrush is not an option – I can understand that – but why may I not know the reason? Father, you want to make me a queen. If that’s what you want, you can’t keep everything from me.”

 

“Then don’t be a queen,” her father snapped. Granite flinched – this truly was wholly unlike him. For the subject to upset him so – it made no sense! “Be the commoner girl you’re behaving like and marry the first person that shows interest in you. Maybe _that_ will teach you to behave like a reasonable princess instead of a spoiled child.”

 

“Maybe I ought to do that! At least then I would not be forced into a role I’m not suited to!”

 

“Then do so—“

 

Something like thunder cracked above them and they both froze. Basalt turned to face her, eyes widened. She stared back, her skin withering to sand in pure fear.

 

“Granite—!”

 

Her father caught her as she fell, the Will settling like a mountain upon them both.

 

The King had proclaimed; the King would keep his Word.

 

***

 

There was a fiddler in the common hall, playing late at night when they should all be in their beds instead of stamping their feet to the laughter of a good fiddle. Granite had heard the songs echo through the halls and found herself drawn towards them in spite of having kept to her room the last few days, fearing that her presence would provoke the situation they all wanted to avoid. She entered the hall from the royal entrance, edging along the stalagmite pillars and seeking a glimpse of the talented musician that had pulled a crowd that even admitted her father and mother.

 

"Again!" the crowd chanted as a song came to an end and the fiddler laughed – a man, Granite realized, and surely not of their kingdom when there was melody even in his laughter. He looked somewhat like Thrush, in fact, but for that he lacked Thrush’s unique eye feathers.

 

"I shall!" he said and brought his bow teasingly over the strings. "What do you wish to hear? A dance? A mourning song? Or maybe a story? I have a wonderful story of a princess as proud as the Stone Mountain itself and as beautiful as the Moonstone Caverns during the Light Festival."

 

Something in her, maybe the part of her that was tired of solitude, spoke up. "A fiddle can't tell a story!"

 

The crowd turned to look at her, the fiddler turned as well. "Ah, but it can," he said softly. "It can tell of many things if you just wish to listen. Will you listen, princess?"

 

She sat down on the end of a bench, folding her feet beneath her. "I will," she said and set him a challenge with her eyes.

 

"Then listen!"

 

Then they were carried away by the music, carried by the bow on a fiddle and a voice that, despite using no words, managed to convey more than a simple story.

 

"You have us all beaten," her father said at the end of it and held out his hand, the glimmer of a glass tear within. The fiddler accepted it with a somber bow and Granite looked down at the glass tears in her own hand. An emotional reaction was the highest praise an artist could receive and they had all given it to him.

 

"Princess?" She looked up and found him standing in front of him, fiddle carefully held under an arm and black eyes unreadable. "Do you yield your bet?"

 

She couldn't meet his eyes for long, the story still beating hard in her chest. "I yield. It was a marvelous story. You capture both hearts and souls with your music; I can’t match that."

 

"Ah, then I am pleased and gladdened," the fiddler said and sounded as if he wanted to say more, but instead he bowed. "I have heard that that you seek a husband or wife. Whomever you choose to stand beside will be a very lucky person indeed – I certainly know that I would consider myself the most fortunate man in the world with a beauty such as yours by my side."

 

The mountain fell upon them, the stone singing like a great bell.

 

Granite lost her breath, her heart falling like a chunk of gneiss. The crowd stirred, a chorus of mutters starting, then subsiding as her father rose. She closed her eyes, wished she could put her fingers to her ears.

 

"Then you shall have her by your side," her father said, but there was no joy in his voice. "The ceremony will take place tomorrow morning."

 

For a moment, she dared meet the fiddler’s eyes – saw the startled dismay in them – but in the end, Granite couldn't face him – couldn't face anyone. She picked her skirts up, turned and fled.

 

***

 

She wanted to cry. She wanted to throw a fit, she wanted to hide somewhere and refuse to reveal herself until everything had been resolved. Every part of her that was a regular girl screamed at her to do it, any of it, as long as it meant she didn't have to leave with a stranger.

 

The princess in her, who knew what consequences there would be for behaving that way, pointed out that the fiddler seemed nice enough, most likely made enough money for at least a comfortable living, and that breaking the King’s Will – and Law – would  be devastating for the entire kingdom.

 

Granite was her father's daughter. She would not bring ruin upon her kingdom.

 

***

 

The fiddler had been moved from the common quarters to a room for guests from the lower nobility. Her heart tried to escape her chest as she made her way there, the servants in her wake not making a single move to acknowledge the trail of sand she left behind. She was grateful for it – more than they were likely to know – and when she knocked on the fiddler’s door, they melted into the walls to give her at least some measure of privacy.

 

"Princess," the fiddler greeted her as he opened the door, the gently brown feathers of his hair fluffed up like a bird in winter. The expression on his face echoed that sense of caution; it made the boulder in the pit of her stomach even heavier. They had pulled a bystander into a family dispute – despicable couldn’t begin to describe it. "I admit I didn't expect to find you here, but I’m grateful you came."

 

Granite carefully unclenched her fists within the cover of her sleeves. He understood the Will and the Law then – at least then he would understand why this happened. She tried to breathe and focused on the fact that they would be spending all their time together from now on. In a month, he wouldn't remember if she fumbled right here and now.

 

“I’m…” Her voice dried up but she determinedly wet her lips and tried again. Meeting his eyes was out of the question, but speak she _would_. “I’m very sorry for involving you in this situation. I’m— Are there anything you would like to ask of me? Anything— What do you—” Her voice dried up and she stared miserably at the floor, her eyes stinging. She couldn’t even string the words together to properly apologize.

 

The callused fingers of the fiddler’s hand touched the back of her hand gently. “Princess, don’t be afraid.” He sighed. “I admit, this is not how I envisioned my marriage, but you know how to appreciate music and I believe you will not be afraid to stand by my side. We can make a good home together, I believe, and there will be a time when we can choose whether to stay or to separate.” He touched her hand again, and this time, she dared to look up and meet a pair of gentle eyes. “We will be fine.”

 

Granite smiled and the boulder in her stomach became marginally lighter. A tear slipped down her cheek, then another, but they both politely pretended they had not. “I believe you.”

 

He nodded and took a step back. “We will be fine,” he said.

 

The words sounded like a promise and somehow, Granite found herself believing in them. She took a shuddering breath and curtseyed before leaving. Her knees felt wobbly as she began up the stairs to her room and she clung to the wall as she climbed. It had gone well; she could do this – one way or another.

 

***

 

In the aftermath, she wished only to forget the wedding. Stray memories wanted to stick in her mind but she brushed them aside. Only one did she allow to remain: the gentle look of the fiddler as he took her hands and knelt to receive the kiss of acceptance on his forehead.

 

"I promise you protection, I promise you companionship, I promise you respect and my promise is threefold," he'd said.

 

"And I promise to protect you, I promise to be your companion and I promise to respect you. My promise is threefold and I accept yours as mine," she had replied and then it had been over.

 

Her mother came to her as she undressed from her finery and pulled on linen and wool, tunic and breeches, all settling in an unfamiliar manner on her frame.

 

"Heart of mine," her mother said and held out her hand. Within it rested a small glowing stone, its heart pulsing with power. The surface was scratched with the semblance of an arrow, its top attached to a chain made of silver and obsidian.

 

"Mother," Granite breathed, touching her hand to the stone. "You–" Then she gave up and simply threw herself around her mother's neck and wept.

 

"Granite," her mother said, leaning her cheek against her hair. "Have faith in yourself and use this gift should you need it."

 

"I will, mother," Granite sniffled.

 

Her mother nodded and pushed her away. "Then go. Your horses are ready." She hesitated. "Forgive your father for not coming. There's much rust in his heart today."

 

Granite wiped at her eyes, thinking of the way her father's shoulders had slumped when she had spoken the acceptance oath. "I know, mother. I will miss you both."

 

Her mother caressed her cheek. "May I follow you to the courtyard?"

 

"Of course." Granite covered her mother's hand with her own. This would be the last time in a very long while.

 

They walked in silence and when they reached the arch that marked the entrance of the courtyard, Granite passed through it by herself. The fiddler didn't say anything, simply helped her into the saddle and then climbed into his own.

 

When they left, she knew there would be a tall, broad shape silhouetted against the quartz window at the top of the southern tower, but she did not turn to see it.

 

***

 

For the first week, they rode in silence. Granite's heart and mind were too filled with grief and regret to properly function and she sank into a pit that seemed insurmountable to climb out of. The fiddler let her be; in her clearer moments, she was grateful to him, but during the nights, she cried soundlessly beside the fire.

 

They passed the border of her kingdom in the second week and the absence of the northern lime flats beyond the border startled her. Prickly forests of juniper, pine and fir took their place and the newness of it all seemed to wake her from the sleep she had fallen into.

 

One morning, she woke earlier than her new husband and she found herself pulled into the expanse of trees, walking barefoot over the brown needles of the forest floor and listening to the bird song high above. It was like walking in the lime pillar halls of the castle but yet not – there was a scent in the air that spoke of sun and acid, nothing that could ever be found in her homeland.

 

"This is the southern part of the Bird country."

 

She didn't turn around for all that she was surprised, the thick layer of needles hiding his presence from her. He stopped beside her, head tilted back to watch the skies.

 

"If we continued to the east, we would eventually encounter one of the great seas – when the wind blows, you can sometimes catch the scent of it if you concentrate."

 

"This is home for you," she whispered.

 

"This will be home for you too," he said and took her hand, squeezing it softly with long, callused fingers. "Welcome back, Granite."

 

She didn't take her hand away – this was the companionship they had promised each other and it was what she most needed. "I didn't ask your name," she confessed.

 

"I didn't offer it." For a moment, he remained silent, as if not knowing what to answer. "Blackbird is my name."

 

"Blackbird," she echoed. "A common name."

 

"A common name for a common man," Blackbird said, then shot her a smile. "Now, come! We have long to go today and I believe our breakfast will be ready."

 

"You cook very well," she said, following him. "I. . .didn’t notice much, but I noticed that. I'm not a good cook, but should you want, I can gather wood and tend the fire to do my part."

 

"That would gladden me," he simply said.

 

Granite squared her shoulders and shook off the remnants of her daze. She was no catch for a common man with her upbringing in a castle, but she would pull her weight as much as she could. Physical work would be hard, but sore muscles she could overcome. Maybe this was a blessing after all – she might lose the closeness to her parents, but she wouldn't have to face the responsibilities of a queen.

 

She darted a look at Blackbird. They didn't really know each other, but she thought they might become friends. They might even become a true husband and wife as the time passed. It would work out, she told herself and this time she believed it.

 

Back at the campsite, they shared their meal and then Granite brushed the sand off her belongings and climbed into her saddle. She would be as strong as her namesake – she refused to be otherwise.

 

Blackbird nudged his horse to move. It was time to continue.

 

***

 

They travelled for a long time and Granite found that she was growing accustomed to the change in her life. She shared the chores of travel with Blackbird and every night, after watering the horses while Blackbird took care of the dishes, he played the fiddle for her to brighten her heart and help her from the edge of the pit in her mind.

 

"How did you become such a wonderful fiddler?" she asked one evening as she searched the hooves of the horses for stones. The stable masters of the castle had been quite stern concerning the care of the royal horses and at least in their care, she could be certain she was of use, where she was not with matters like cooking.

 

Blackbird paused as he wrapped up his fiddle after the day's playing, looking thoughtful. "I have always loved music. It comes with the blood of us birds, I suppose, but I believe I may be particularly fond of it. This is why I travel the world during the summer months – to find new music and learn what I do not know within the art." She looked over at him and found him looking into the fire, regret in his expression. "Were it not for King Thrush, I would most likely only seldom return to the kingdom."

 

"King Thrush?" Granite said, forgetting to let down her mare's leg until the horse shifted impatiently. She patted her on the flank in apology. "I met him—" Her heart skipped a beat and she discarded what she would have said – Thrush was not in her life anymore. "King Thrush did not seem like a man who would force someone to stay that would rather not.”

 

Blackbird didn't answer, for once deep in his thoughts. Granite didn't disturb him – as he had respected her need for solitude, so she would respect his.

 

She finished with the horses and then rolled herself into her blankets. When Blackbird finally stirred, she was near sleep and could only offer a smile that he returned.

 

"Goodnight," he said – or she thought he said. She was asleep before the sound reached her.

 

***

 

For many days, they rode deeper into the Bird Kingdom, the forest changing from trees with needles to trees with leaves. Granite began to wonder whether there was anything but forest in the lands of the birds, the constant presence of branches over her head wearing on her. Blackbird, on the other hand, appeared to draw strength from it all, becoming livelier and livelier as they passed deeper into the woods.

 

One evening, her feet dug deep into the soil to pull as much stone into herself as she could from the boulders deep beneath them, Granite found herself under Blackbird’s scrutiny where he sat by the fire.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly and she startled, nearly losing her grip on the stone. “I did not think this route would weary you this much.”

 

She shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said, finding a smile inside her to give him. “There’s plenty of stone beneath us for me – that is all that I need.”

 

“It does not come easy to you, however; I can see as much.” Blackbird sighed and stirred the fire. “You father wouldn’t have told you, but there is unrest within Bird. The King’s brother, Colibri, has taken the throne. He seeks to keep his brother from putting things right by flooding the land with brigands. We travel on the forest roads to avoid them – the forests belong to the Pigeons and their loyalty to the king is unquestioned.”

 

Granite lost her grip on the stone momentarily. This was what her father had kept from her; this was why King Thrush— she pushed that thought away. “Is the situation very bad?” she quietly asked.

 

Blackbird reached out a hand and grasped hers, squeezing it. “No. Colibri took the throne when King Thrush was traveling – I’m sure you’re aware of his visit to your own country. He’s on his way home and will put things right.”

 

“How do you know this much?” Granite sat down beside him, her hand still in his. It didn’t come naturally to them – not yet – but it would never come if they pulled away at first opportunity.

 

“I am part of Thrush’s forces,” Blackbird said, then, at her disbelieving look, he pulled away and raised his fiddle. “Listen.”

 

He played – and the forest listened. She could _feel_ the magic in it – the way the melody pulled power from the magma lines, not through stone, as her own people would, but through the deep-rooted trees surrounding them.

 

“You’re a mage,” she breathed.

 

He laughed. “That I am, but a specialized one. I can’t touch half the magic Queen Obsidian might, for instance.”

 

Granite swallowed hard, part of her heart crumbling as her mother’s absence suddenly hit her. Blackbird winced, putting down the fiddle and coming to embrace her. “I’m sorry,” he said, letting her weep into his shoulder. “That was not very tactful of me.”

 

They did not talk more that night and Granite fell asleep holding her mother’s gift.

 

***

 

The forests eventually ended and one day they crested a hill and found themselves at the edge of a great lake. On the other side, barely visible beyond the stretch of water, lay a great expanse of cultivated land and in the middle of it all was a great castle with towers and walkways that stretched across the land like the branches of an oak too large for imagination.

 

"The Nest," Blackbird said, his voice quiet. His eyes were distant as if trying to bridge the many miles between him and the castle. "I have not been there for a long while."

 

"You lived in the castle?" Granite asked, glimpsing a train of nobles riding out of a gate clad in the most outrageous combinations of colors.

 

Blackbird only shook his head. "I would grateful if you would not ask," he said.

 

The subject must be painful, Granite realized. There were few subjects that Blackbird wouldn't discuss and even though she wished that he would, she couldn't ask it of him. She nudged her horse closer to his and reached for his hand. Her fingers had become callused like his during their journey together and she found that they fit together better than she ever would have imagined.

 

"I won't ask," she promised, then, to set the promise in the stone of her heart, she continued, "–is this the lake you have told me much about?" He inclined his head. "Then your home will be to the west. Will we reach it today?"

 

"At sunset," he said and lifted her hand to kiss, it in the way of nobles, as thanks. She shivered and wondered why he would choose such a gesture – for her sake? "If we had a boat, we could reach there by midday, but the road by the shore side winds more than one might expect."

 

"Then we should hurry," she decided. "I want to see the home you speak of so much."

 

He laughed and there was barely an edge of sadness left. She knew, however, that much like a piece of flint tempered by the waves of the sea, it could become sharp and hurtful again at the smallest of impacts. Grown accustomed to his kindness and gentle nature during their time together, she found that she wouldn't like that to happen. She wouldn't like that at all.

 

***

 

The house Blackbird called his home was far from as grand as a castle but was nevertheless a comfortable place to live. They would never need servants, but there was a small stable and an enclosure for the horses attached to the house, which appeared to have once been a fortification tower of some sort. It had three floors, the ones above increasingly smaller than the previous ones, and windows that were truly more like arrow slits.

 

Blackbird guided her through the floors and Granite learned that the ground floor was for everyday use, the second floor was their private domain and the third held their bedroom. As of now, there was only a single, narrow bed, but Blackbird promised to have a bed that would fit them both within the week. Granite rather liked the place and told Blackbird as much as she returned from brushing and feeding the horses.

 

"It's a comfortable home," Blackbird agreed, "but there isn't any land attached to live on. If I don't travel and earn my coin with my fiddle – and I don't believe you will wish to be left alone here as soon as we arrive – we will need to seek employment."

 

A trickle of sand ran down Granite's back, puddling at her feet. "I see," she said.

 

Blackbird sighed and moved to take her hand. "Don't be afraid already," he scolded gently. "You have neither met nor attempted any work that might be offered you."

 

“I’m merely nervous,” she said, meeting his smile with one of her own – even if it shook. “Will you be … joining King Thrush?”

 

“His right hand, Rosecrown,” Blackbird corrected. “She comes from the Pigeon Family – you remember them?”

 

Granite nodded, hiding a stab of worry. She wouldn’t like to lose Blackbird now – and it wasn’t all because that would leave her alone.

 

***

 

Blackbird was true to his word. The day after their arrival, he went to the town sprawled around the castle and bought them a bed that he delivered home to them in a rickety wagon. They pulled it up to the third floor with plenty of banging and swearing and that night, they both slept comfortably, curled up on one side each.

 

In the morning, Blackbird made them breakfast and Granite cared for the horses in their usual pattern, and then Blackbird caught her attention. "We're going into town today," he said, "so wear a good set of clothing and good shoes. Stabling a horse for a day is too expensive, so we will walk or hitch a ride with a wagon."

 

Granite did as he asked and soon they were on their way to the town on the back of a milk wagon. They arrived soon enough and Blackbird brought her to a large building at the edges of the town. Above the main entrance, there was a picture of an arrow.

 

"What is this place?" Granite whispered as they entered. It was chilly inside – the owners must be truly rich to be able to afford cooling spells. Her own mother didn't do such spells if she could avoid it – they took much more energy than heating spells that could be pulled straight from the magma lines that crisscrossed the land beneath the layer of dirt and stone.

 

A woman appeared from a side-room. "We're the Messenger Service," she said, nodding politely at Blackbird. "This is your wife? She looks smaller than I expected. You didn't mention that she's a Stone either."

 

"Neither will affect her ability to carry messages," Blackbird pointed out as Granite shrank behind him.

 

"She seems a bit shy. Well, you told me that I suppose." The woman sighed. "Come here, dear. I need to look at you."

 

What Granite _wanted_ was to stay hidden behind Blackbird, but she knew that wouldn't go over well. She made her rabbit heart into stone, ignored the trickle along her back and pretended that she wasn't leaving a trail of pale sand behind her. Blackbird caught her hand and squeezed it as she passed and she squeezed it back.

 

The woman looked her up and down, and then made her turn once, hmm-ing as she went. "That stone I can sense on you," she finally said, "did you make it?"

 

A mage, Granite realized. She'd heard that they sometimes worked for the messengers. She shook her head. "It's a gift of protection. From my mother." Her chest ached, the homesickness heavy as gneiss.

 

"Can you use it?"

 

Granite pulled it out of her tunic, activated the bow it held and pulled the bowstring back to her ear, the lava-flow of the magic burning against her hands but not causing physical damage along with the pain. Her mother was a good mage.

 

The woman nodded. "That's good then. We like our messengers to be able to protect themselves if need be. Blackbird told me that you're not familiar with the city, so you'll be on the short rounds until you learn your way. One silver coin for each run, a gold coin if you last a month. It's not much coin, but when you can handle all the rounds, there will be plenty of work and the pay will increase. Sound good?"

 

Granite nodded. What else could she say? She let go of the bow and it melted back into stone.

 

"Good then. Well, there's no time like the present. Come along and we'll find you a uniform and a map. There are a few small errands I can send you to."

 

When Granite stepped out of the building half a glass later, she was shaking. She put the map and the message in the satchel, waved goodbye to Blackbird and then went to puke silently around a corner.

 

"I will do this," she said quietly as she wiped her mouth. "I will, I will, I will." Whether it helped or not, even she didn't know.

 

***

 

Blackbird waited for her at home with dinner that night, looking as if he had been working as hard as she had all day. She fed the horses as he set the table, then they settled down to eat together.

 

“Did you meet with Rosecrown?” Granite asked, once they had satisfied most of their hunger. “You look tired.”

 

“I did,” Blackbird confirmed. “It seems as if we are following schedule – Colibri will be ousted soon. How did your first day as a messenger go?”

 

Granite sighed. “Well enough.”

 

“You will be fine.” Blackbird caught her eye. “You’re stronger than you think.”

 

Granite wasn’t sure about that.

 

***

 

"Wake up."

 

Granite stirred, the images of a road that wound on forever and forever still in her mind.

 

"Granite. Wake up."

 

She opened her eyes, the road fading into nothing. Blackbird was kneeling beside her, his hand on her shoulder. His hair feathers were ruffled, as if he'd just woken up as well. She reached up to touch her cheeks, found the skin beneath her eyes to be sticky. She had woken _him_ up, then.

 

"Sorry," she muttered.

 

Blackbird nodded and squeezed her shoulder. "Back to bed?"

 

"Yes." She hesitated. "I'm sorry for waking you up."

 

"Companionship, remember?" He climbed to his feet and smiled down at her. "Waking you from a bad dream is the least I can do."

 

He went back to his side of the bed and Granite turned around to face him, wanting to know that someone was there beside her; that there wasn't only the road and running along it towards faceless people who wanted what only she could give them. Blackbird caught her eye and held out a hand. She took it, letting him twine her fingers with his.

 

"Sleep," he whispered. "It's still long until morning."

 

She slept.

 

***

 

The next day came and went. The nights passed. She fell asleep holding Blackbird's hand and spent the day running along the streets until she no longer dreamt nightmares or needed to throw up after speaking to people.

 

One morning, Albatross called her into the main office and told her to sit. "You've been running messages for a month," she told Granite. "You were a bit nervous in the beginning, but I think you've settled in well. You get the messages to their end stations and even if our other messengers do say that you're shy, you speak to them when you need to. So, I want to offer you a promotion. Noble quarter runs, fifty in silver for each run and the same in gold for a month."

 

Granite waited for her heart to drop, for her breath to stop, and found that nothing happened. She was just. . .tired from running. A bit hungry. Annoyed with the recipient of her last letter, who had tried to set a dog on her before they saw her uniform.

 

"Sounds good," she offered eventually, remembering that Albatross needed an answer.

 

Albatross smiled. "A deal."

 

***

 

Blackbird wasn't at home when she returned that night. She sat in the kitchen, waiting for him with the news of her promotion, but he never arrived. When midnight came and went, she blew out the candles, locked the door and went to bed. She didn't sleep.

 

***

 

Someone was waiting on the stairs to the messenger office when Granite returned from her morning run the following day. She'd been dropping pebbles all morning and at the sight of him, she lost her breath.

 

She broke into a run and, when Blackbird stood, threw herself around his neck without even bothering with the pretense of not having been worried.

 

"Did anything happen?" she half-whispered, half-sobbed even as his arms settled around her. She got a mouthful of feathers for the effort but she didn't _care_ , just spit them out and continued: "The brigands— I was so _worried_.”

 

"Granite–" he began.

 

There was something wrong with his voice, she realized, and he was– She threw herself back, staring at the weird way he held himself. "You're hurt."

 

Blackbird stepped forwards, grabbed her hand and twined their fingers together as was common between them now. "I'm fine," he said and let her catch his eye. "Really – I'm not hurt beyond a rasping voice. You ought not worry."

 

She raised her hand without thinking, smoothing it over the barely visible down that ringed his eyes. "I should worry. You're–" She couldn’t find words, only emotion that choked her throat. "You're the only one I have, you're my–" She gave up and embraced him again, hiding her face in his feathers.

 

When she finally could find a semblance of calm again, she pulled away. He wiped the tears on her cheeks away and that was new – he had never touched her like that before. The thought brought new tears to her eyes for him to wipe away, but he did so without saying a word.

 

"What happened?" she asked a while later, having brought him inside and left her report with Albatross.

 

Blackbird grimaced. "The brigands," he said with distaste. "We cleaned out a very large camp yesterday. I, apparently, make a very appealing target as a music mage. Rosecrown came for me before anything serious could happen, but I was taken to a healing station for the night."

 

"They couldn't send me a message?" Granite said through gritted teeth. She was usually the one that _ran_ those messages – she knew that it was the practice used by most stations.

 

Blackbird only shook his head. “We will defeat Colibri, but messengers – that is too dangerous.”

 

Granite had never hated anyone as much as she hated Colibri that moment. "I wish this was all over.”

 

"It will be soon," he quietly promised. “Very soon.”

 

***

 

 

Granite couldn't sleep that night either. Her head felt as if she'd stuffed it with lake stone, her body was heavier than the Stone Mountain herself and yet sleep refused to come. Blackbird had gone to bed early, not as fine as he pretended to be, and had fallen asleep immediately. She, on the other hand, kept being driven awake to see that he was truly there.

 

Towards midnight, he rolled over on his side, facing her, and opened his eyes. "Can't sleep?" he mumbled.

 

"No." In a fit of honesty, she confessed, "I'm afraid to fall asleep."

 

Blackbird opened his eyes fully, looking at her. "I wouldn't leave you."

 

"Brigands wouldn't care about promises made to me." She put a hand under her cheek, raising her head slightly so she could see him more clearly. "You've become more to me than a stranger I married."

 

"I know." He reached for her and she put her hand into his. "As have you to me."

 

They just lay there for a while, looking at each other.

 

"You need to sleep," Blackbird finally said, disentangling their hands to touch her face. His fingertips swept along the patterns the granite made in her face, touched a vein of pure blue that ran from the corner of her eye to her ear.

 

She grabbed the hand when it began to pull away. He stopped, fingertips resting against the skin just above her mouth. She wished for a moment it would just move that tiny bit further down but knew that it wouldn't.

 

"Granite?"

 

"Just–" She couldn't find the words. "Hold me? Please?"

 

For a moment, they both stopped breathing. Then he scooted towards her and she moved so she could rest her cheek on his shoulder. His arm settled beneath her and she threw her leg over his to come closer, worming her hand across his stomach. His free hand settled on her wrist, wrapping around it without holding – he was so _warm_ , she thought dizzily, not cold as she usually was.

 

"Sleep," he said, turning his face into her hair to kiss her forehead.

 

She slept.

 

***

 

The messenger service was running them all ragged, Granite decided the next day as she stumbled into the resting room to find at least five of her fellow runners all but passed out on the furniture inside. She handed her report to the in-house runner, then slumped down on a free chair and closed her eyes. She only realized she'd forgotten to lift her hair out of the way when a few strands broke and crashed to the floor, but even that couldn't make her move more than to wrap it up and crush the dead bits into sand. She was lucky really – the exhaustion had her breaking, but her fellow messengers were fairly _molting_.

 

Albatross poked her head through the doorway. "Is Bluetail here yet?"

 

Granite didn't bother to open her eyes or lift her head. "She's stuck with that lord, what's his name – the one with the name of that beaky bird."

 

Albatross swore – a rare occurrence that said a lot about the current situation. "I'm going to need all of you in a moment. Stay where you are."

 

No one deigned to reply to _that_.

 

"Does anyone know what's going on?" Hummingbird asked the ceiling. "Everyone I deliver something to seems to get very out of sorts."

 

"I think it's the King," Shrike said and pulled a few loose feathers from his head. Granite had heard the noise so often lately that she didn't even have to look to know it. "I think he’s returned and I think the nobles are not sure where they should stand."

 

"What’s Thrush doing? Do the rumors say?" she asked. Blackbird never told her much – perhaps sensing that the thought of the danger he was in upset her.

 

"Scouring the countryside for their hideout,” Shrike said, “and sending messages to his loyal nobles. But who knows – no one tells the messenger service what’s in the letters we carry.”

 

Albatross entered the room again before Granite had the chance to ask further questions. "Listen up! I have multiple messages for running. To your feet – there's an extra fifty-silver for prompt delivery of these messages."

 

Granite heaved herself to her feet and sighed. Work called.

 

***

 

Blackbird arrived home late that evening but not too late to share dinner with her over their small table. "There was much to do today," he told her apologetically as he scooped a healthy portion of the sweet potato porridge that was as far as Granite's cooking skills extended. "I hope to be home earlier tomorrow."

 

Granite handed him a piece of bread to go with the milk she'd poured him. "The messengers are busy too. Shrike – one of my coworkers – believes it has to do with the King. He thinks the King is building support to enter the city." Her hand shook as she attempted to lift her spoon and she put it down again.

 

Blackbird caught her hand before she could withdraw it and caught her eye. "Don't worry. I will be careful."

 

"Careful won't save you when you face a score of brigands." She didn't take her hand back, though and they stayed like that until Blackbird needed it back for eating.

 

There was an awkward moment before bed, when they stared at each other from their usual spots, each on a different side of the bed. Then Blackbird shook his head and smiled, holding out a hand. Granite rolled over and fitted herself against his side, covers pulled up to her chin.

 

Sleep came easy.

 

***

 

Everything had escalated the next morning. Blackbird had ridden out before she had properly woken up and when she arrived to the messenger’s headquarters’, they were already drowned in messages that needed go out as quick as possible. There was something ill-boding in the air and it affected them all as they ran.

 

The summons to return arrived as Granite was on her way back to the messenger building after a run to some count who had far too many hunting dogs for anyone's peace of mind. The runner who found her was a small girl named Eagle – Granite had never run with her but knew that she was a favored runner among the titled consorts of the upper noble quarters.

 

"Albatross wants us all back at the headquarters," Eagle said, the long hair feathers spilling down her back still fluffed up from the jump she'd done down the terraced garden path above them. "I think there's something important going on – there's a knight waiting with her."

 

A knight? Granite fell into a jog beside Eagle. That sounded very serious indeed. "Do we know what knight it is?" She'd learned easily half their names during her runs, along with their common duties.

 

"She didn't introduce herself, but I'm rather sure it's Rosecrown."

 

Granite nearly fell, her heart skipping a beat. Blackbird, she mouthed, then forced him out of her mind. This was not the time or place to worry – Rosecrown’s presence was not likely to concern him.

 

Most of the others had already arrived and gathered in the meeting hall when Granite slipped through the door. Her hair hit the sword stand beside the door and she winced at the discordant clang it made. Albatross, standing at the front of the room with a pigeon-colored knight, looked up.

 

"Granite!" she bellowed. "My office!"

 

Granite waved in reply and headed right out again, jogging along the corridor that ran along the outer wall of the meeting hall. Albatross and the knight waited for her as she arrived.

 

"Rosecrown wants to speak with you," Albatross said, nodding towards her office.

 

Granite nodded, shaking off the lump of gneiss that wanted to settle in her stomach. She turned towards Rosecrown – she wasn't quite sure what to do; as a princess by birth, she wouldn't bow to a knight, but she wasn't living as a princess now.

 

Rosecrown solved it for her. "I know your mother," she said. "If she spoke of me, she most likely called me–"

 

"The Bird Knight," Granite interrupted, her mind finding the connection, then flushed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to–"

 

"You truly are Obsidian's daughter," Rosecrown noted. "Thrush mentioned it – uncertain and unwilling to risk causing an insult, even if not taking the risk is an insult in itself."

 

"Thrush?" Granite said – that had not been a name she'd imagined would come up in this conversation.

 

"He also said that you're intelligent and that though you must be pushed into action, when that push came, you would strive on out of your own sense of duty."

 

Granite blinked. She had met the man for all of fifteen minutes – even if his impression of her had appeared to be good

 

"So, Princess Granite of Stone," Rosecrown continued, "I will tell you this: Thrush has been caught in a siege and without a Will we can’t save him."

 

Granite startled. That was not good – why they were telling her, however. . . "Can’t he exercise his Will from where he is? My father–"

 

"That's of no relevance at the moment,” Rosecrown said dismissively, staring at Granite’s face with uncomfortably piercing eyes. “Consider this: Thrush is a collective name for a large number of family lines. Could you name some of the more common lines? I'm sure you've met quite a few of them."

 

"What has that got to–"

 

"Granite."

 

She knew better than to argue with that tone of voice. "Redwing, Robin, Fieldfare, Blackbi–"

 

She faltered. Her mind snatched at pieces of memory, put them together: courtly gestures, down around Blackbird’s eyes, riding with Rosecrown but never naming her his liege, _knowing_ so much—

 

"I– He's–" She stared.

 

"He didn’t want to pull you into the situation," Rosecrown said, not without empathy. "Your father—"

 

The pieces snapped together in her mind – her father’s dislike of Thrush, his discussion with Thrush in the throne hall— Thrush _had_ come to offer for her, she realized, but her father had declined him due to the situation in Bird. This whole situation – it was the most _ridiculous–_

 

The word must've slipped out of her mouth, because Rosecrown said, a small amount of amusement in her voice, "Indeed. Thrush caught a liking for you but the situation in the kingdom wasn’t secure enough for your father to allow his suit. He was about to leave for Bird under the disguise of a fiddler when, well, _you_ happened."

 

Her mind suddenly caught up and she realized why Rosecrown had come. "The brigands– Oh Great Stone– That's why–" Her mind spun. "You need me to–." Then she pulled herself together. "You're crowning me. To get Blackbi– Thrush out. You need my Will as Queen to get Thrush out–" She couldn't bring herself to say 'alive'.

 

"You're Obsidian's daughter all right," Rosecrown said approvingly. She walked to the door and stuck her head outside. "Is everything ready?"

 

"Everyone's present," someone confirmed. "We have the hundred witnesses required."

 

Rosecrown opened the door. "After you," she told Granite.

 

There was no time to falter – there wasn't even any time to throw up, even though she really wanted to.

 

She closed her eyes for half a second, then focused on Blackbi– _Thrush_ and stomped out. Make herself move, she could, but she couldn't stop herself from sounding like a rock avalanche, shattering with every step and move. Rosecrown dodged the rocks as they fell, walking at her shoulder.

 

"I suppose I should be glad you're granite and not obsidian," she half-muttered in Granite's direction.

 

"We can't all drop soft things like feathers," Granite said and ignored that her voice shook.

 

"True," Rosecrown allowed, "and chunks of granite don't cut as badly as volcano glass."

 

The doors to the meeting hall opened before they got there. Granite stepped through, had a moment to realize that she had a hundred eyes staring at her, and dropped her gaze to the floor, shuffling in the direction of the priest in his outrageously pink feathers. If his name wasn't Flamingo, she would eat her _foot_.

 

"We've already shown the marriage treaty," a man told her. "You only need to kneel and accept the crown."

 

Well, that was easy enough, Granite thought, and dropped to her knees. The sound was worse than the landslide from before. Flamingo either pretended not to notice or had severe hearing problems, because he stepped forward and placed the crown on her head.

 

"Hail Queen Granite," he intoned.

 

A flutter of wings seemed to descend on her, settling in her head – it had to be the Bird Kingdom’s Will, Granite realized, the foreign feeling unsettling against her stone mind.

 

"Hail Queen Granite," the rest of the room echoed – a bit dazedly, Granite thought. She could sympathize.

 

"Finally," Rosecrown muttered and then she was tugging Granite to her feet and through the door they had come from. The moment the door was closed, she turned to Granite. "You need to come with us,” she said apologetically. “We need—“

 

"I know," Granite said. She could feel the Will settling inside her.

 

Rosecrown frowned. "Can you defend yourself?"

 

Granite nodded and touched her stone. Rosecrown looked pleased. "Obsidian's daughter indeed. I wonder if Thrush knew who he chose."

 

"We get along fine," Granite told her.

 

Rosecrown smirked. "So I've heard." She raised her hand to cast.

 

Granite eyed the portal that Rosecrown pulled through the floor (leaving scorch marks that Albatross would _not_ be happy about). "I'm not good with magma travel."

 

"It will be over in a moment.”

 

The other side of the walkway flickered open and Granite could glimpse the annealed armor of the soldiers coming out of magma lines all over the open field on the other side.

 

"Go through," Rosecrown said through clenched teeth. "I don't want to hold these portals for longer than I have to."

 

Granite nodded and did as she asked. Rosecrown followed and then the portal closed.

 

***

 

The tower that held Thrush stood in the middle of a massive war camp. Granite looked down at it from a distant hill, coated in a thin layer of sand that refused to go away. Rosecrown stood beside her, hand on her sword.

 

"We can break through," Rosecrown said and motioned as she described the battle plan. "It won't be easy, but it can be done."

 

Granite nodded, fingering her mother's stone. "When do you begin?"

 

"At dusk," Rosecrown said grimly. "They don't have a mage – it will be their undoing."

 

Granite looked towards the setting sun. "Soon."

 

"Soon," Rosecrown agreed. “I will tell you when to add your Will.”

 

Granite nodded, the strange sensation of being pressed upon by wings and wind almost familiar by now. “I’m ready.”

 

***

 

The sun crept beneath the horizon and Rosecrown brought Granite to the archery line in the forest. The archers there greeted her with bows, and then returned to their positions. Rosecrown introduced Granite to the archery leader, then squared her shoulders.

 

“It’s time,” she told Granite.

 

Granite nodded and pulled on that feeling of feathers and wind beneath wings. “What need you Willed?”

 

Rosecrown grinned and drew her sword. “Attack.”

 

Well, Granite dryly thought, at least that was easy. “Let it be so,” she said and released her Will. It immediately took flight like a flock of birds and spread across the forces.

 

It began.

 

***

 

The magma lines rose through the earth, a ghostly glow mirroring their path far below. Tendrils moved through the air, becoming what their wielders wished before crashing into the brigands in the valley below. Granite freed her bow as the brigands began to move, the annealed bowstring pulled to her ear and then released. The arrow-that-wasn’t buried itself in a brigand chest and she felt the impact deep in her spine, the pain as the red-hot magic went out flaring up her back.

 

Far in the distance, the tower lit up and a company of knights spilled out the entrance. In their midst was a tall shape with the crest of the Bird King on his armor. Granite tore her eyes away when they wanted to stay on him and fired another arrow, then another. Her eyes burned.

 

***

 

The last brigand died at the break of dawn. Granite’s fingertips were sooty as she released the bow, the pain coming from physical injury as well as the phantom ache of magic after hours of shooting. She couldn’t leave the archers – her legs refused to carry her. Bla— _Thrush_ was at the main camp with Rosecrown, but still she couldn’t go. Her heart thudded – he’d not told her who he was and now he was both the Thrush who had intrigued her and the Blackbird she’d fallen in love with.

 

“My queen?” The leader of the archers kneeled beside her, his face plumes dyed black from the smoke. “Rosecrown says it’s safe for you to come to the main camp.”

 

Granite closed her eyes. “I will go.” Eventually, she added internally. She needed time – she hadn’t had any time since Rosecrown came to her.

 

“I understand.” He bowed, and then went off, presumably to relay this to Rosecrown in some way.

 

Granite climbed to her feet and wandered deeper into the forest. The Will fluttered around her, as if unsure whether to go to Thrush or to her. Was this how her father felt, she wondered, and then sank onto a stone well beyond the outer limit of the archer line. A breeze hit her face; she wiped the tears off her face and dug her fingers into the stone. Not entirely granite, she felt, but partly so and that was enough.

 

Thrush appeared after a while, approaching her alone through the slender trees. The down she had seen around his eyes had almost grown into the feathers she had seen when they first met by now – it was hard to see Blackbird beneath them. He seemed to see that in her eyes, because he hesitated.

 

“Granite,” he said, coming to a stop almost three yards away.

 

Finally, the urge to make sure he was all right prodded her to her feet and she came to him. He stood like a rock in front of her, allowing her to run her hands and eyes over him. “You seem healthy,” she said finally.

 

“I am,” he said. He didn’t move towards her – even though she could see he wanted to. “Granite, I—”

 

She closed her eyes, then took that one step forward and embraced him, resting her cheek against his. “I need time to think.”

 

“I know.” He slowly wound his arms around her as well. “You will have that time – this whole business has been wholly a mess for all of us. Still – will you join us to retake the castle? If you do not, I am sure Albatross wouldn’t mind your help for another few days.”

 

“Will you be home?”

 

“If you wish me to be. Though for how long, I don’t know.”

 

“Then come; I will be there.” She stepped away. “War, it’s not for me. I will help Albatross.”

 

He laughed softly, Blackbird’s carefree laugh, then caught her eye and cupped her cheek. “I do love you,” he quietly told her. “Regardless of this mess, I do love you.”

 

Granite nodded, then looked over his shoulder. “Rosecrown is coming,” she told him. “It’s time for you to go, I believe.”

 

Thrush sighed and went to greet his second-in-command. Before the two of them disappeared, Thrush turned one last time to see her. Granite quirked a smile at him; he nodded. Then they were gone.

 

***

 

Granite waited that evening, seated on her chair by their kitchen table. Thrush would come –  but what she would say to him she didn’t know. When the door opened to allow his weary shape, however, the instinctive urge to fuss brought her to her feet. She helped him undress without a word, then settled him by the table and fed him. Only when he was finished did they look at each other.

 

“What are you thinking?” Thrush quietly asked, his head bowed under the weight of the day. There were lines around his eyes and mouth that hadn’t been there before and she could see weariness in him that went to the bone.

 

“I don’t know,” Granite said honestly. Her heart beat for him – that was true – but her mind was unsettled, untrue. “I’m not sure— I married Blackbird. To suddenly be married to Thrush… It’s hard to take in.”

 

Thrush nodded. “We’ve surrounded the castle,” he told her. “Colibri has the night to surrender, then we enter. By tomorrow, I will once again have the throne.”

 

Granite tried to imagine it – Thrush on the throne of the Bird King, her standing by his side. It did not come easily.

 

“There’s no need for you to enter the palace tomorrow.” Thrush caught her eye. “There has been no formal presentation; you will have the time you need. If you wish, you and I might easily remain here for a time – or you might stay here alone, should that suit you better.”

 

Granite shook her head violently at that. “Not alone.” She met his eyes. “I can’t pretend to be fully comfortable with … this, but we’re not strangers. We’ll work through this – though I will not pretend that staying here wouldn’t make it easier to adapt.”

 

“Then that is how it will be,” Thrush said, a flutter of wings in her mind as the Will settled in the words.

 

Was this a beginning or an end, Granite wondered as she took the hand Thrush offered her and followed him upstairs. It was hard to tell where this road was leading – if it was continuing ahead or turning around on itself.  She wanted to follow it, however, that she knew. She needed to see where it led, what lay at the end of it.

 

“Did you truly come to ask my suit?” she asked halfway up the stairs, the question suddenly at the front of her mind.

 

Thrush stopped, surprised. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “That I did.”

 

“Perhaps it was luck that you didn’t,” she said. “I doubt I would’ve shown you any interest.”

 

“Perhaps. Perhaps you would’ve.”

 

They would never know, Granite knew that, but somehow the idea that she might have ended up by his side even without the events that had led to this appealed to her.

 

Their small bedroom opened up at the top of the stairs and Granite found her troubles dropping from her shoulders as she stepped inside. Undressing and climbing within felt as natural as breathing, as did rolling over next to Thrush. Things were changing, that was true, but this was a constant. They had built something between them, and even if things would be hard for a time to come, they would have this to lean on. Somehow, she thought it would be enough.

 

Somehow, she thought she might have her happy ending.


End file.
